


reflection

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [109]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 10:43:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17424362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: Claire and Jamie struggle to communicate during the search for Roger. Inspired by 04x10.





	reflection

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/181953411422/hi-could-you-please-write-what-happened-or-what) on tumblr

Excruciating.

The bumps in the saddle as the horse stepped over roots and rocks and fallen tree limbs.

The worry gnawing in her stomach – over Bree, and her grandchild, and her capabilities as a mother.

Ian’s one-sided, conversational chatter as they passed from their land to Cherokee land, forded streams, hobbled the horses, set up a rudimentary camp.

Jamie’s silence; how they only spoke for him to ask her for the bag full of jerky, or where she had packed the saddlebag with his flint.

He had handed her a blanket, then settled to sleep on the other side of the fire.

Now, sometime, somewhere in the deep night, she lay flat on her back, staring up at the stars through the screen of the trees. Stomach churning the squirrel stew Ian had made for dinner. Mind racing, jumping from thought to thought –

Hamburgers. Yes, she had heard of Led Zeppelin on the radio one time. The disinfectant of the hospital.

The way the polished floors had reflected her face at River Run. The soft scent of boiling potatoes in Fergus and Marsali’s rooms in Wilmington. How one of her bunches of dried chamomile had fallen from the rafters and landed on Jamie’s shoulder, while they ate supper a few evenings before.

What could she possibly say to him now?

The wind shifted – and the soft tang of pine wafted from the treetops.

Like the pine boughs with which Mrs. Fitz had so lovingly adorned their room at Leoch. Memory flashed – one night after making it clear to Jamie that he could not share her bed, she had opened the window for a cool winter breeze, and watched in the mirror as her curls flew all around her head.

Then, as now, she wondered how it would be made right between them. That time he had made a catastrophic mistake – but he had grown from the experience, and she had forgiven him.

Now, though – now it was their *daughter* - their precious, miraculous daughter – who, like she had been, was hurt and heartsick and alone.

Would she be as forgiving?

Claire jerked at the sudden rustle of leaves to her left –

“Sassenach.”

She sat up – he crouched with his back to the fire, a respectable twelve or so inches from her left side.

“What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

He heaved a deep sigh, and wordlessly sank to the ground. “Will it ever be all right, Claire?”

She couldn’t see his face – but the fire cast a warm glow behind him. Starkly outlining the tension in his shoulders.

“What if we dinna find him? I’ll never forgive myself. And Bree – I’ll have utterly failed as her father.”

Desperately she yearned to touch him – to feel the roughness of his palm, the wiry hairs of his forearm. To draw him from the pit of self-despair – whose depth and contours she knew all too well.

“When I was searching for you, after you had been taken by the Watch – I couldn’t even fathom the idea that I’d never find you.”

She lay her hands on her knees, the silver and gold of her rings catching the firelight.

“At the beginning – it was me and Jenny. She told me something that I’ve never forgotten. It helped me get through the fog after I went back to Frank. It helped me keep my courage when I came back at Craigh Na Dun – when I rode the carriage to Edinburgh to find you.”

He shifted a bit; how she wanted to see his face.

“She told me that love forces a person to choose. That you’d do things you never imagined you could do before.”

She watched him for a long while. Knowing he would speak when he was ready. Watching the twitch of his shoulders, hearing him scuff his boots on the leaves.

“New York isna as far as Scotland, or nineteen hundred and seventy-one. We did find Young Ian across an ocean, though wi’ no small risk.”

An owl hooted somewhere overhead.

“But I just got her, Claire.” His voice broke. “I dinna want to lose her.”

“So we search. If it takes a year – two years – that’s what we’ll do. We will send her word, and we will keep looking. And I’ll be with you.”

The sole of his boot nudged her knee. Kept touching it. She let him.

“When ye were taken by the Porpoise – I felt so helpless. Angry at myself, for letting ye go on that ship wi’out me. But at least there was someone I could blame. The same with the Bruja, and Geillis Duncan.”

“Blaming yourself gets you nowhere.”

“I know. But I canna help it. I know it will take time for – for things to mend between us, Claire. And to mend wi’ Brianna.”

She nudged closer to him. Lay a hand on his ankle. “So we press on. We find him. We keep your promise to her.”

“Aye,” he sighed.

“And we think about – about our grandchild.”

He let out a small, startled sound – and crawled over to her. Took her hands. Squeezed them. Full of so much feeling.


End file.
